


Deal

by Alythe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Childhood, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alythe/pseuds/Alythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Jim Moriarty, from the day his father was arrested to the day he met Sherlock Holmes. This is a story of survival, of fear and pain, and recovery (sort of). A story about truth and lies, and psychology. A story about deals, and tricks and revenge. Of friendship, for a given value of friendship (because psychopaths don’t form attachments). And of trust, for a given value of trust (because Jim doesn’t trust anybody).</p>
<p>Prequel of A new variable</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The child

Tom Williams had been working at “Behavioural modification” for the last ten years. His work was simple: he received the articles people sent  and checked if they had the required format for the magazine. If they didn’t, he sent them back with a report of what had to be modified. If they did, he changed the author’s name for a code, and sent it to three reviewers.  It was an easy job, and he liked it.

 

That morning, like every day, he opened the email, and started with the first article: number of words: 4836 (under 5000, good. It was amazing how many scientist got that wrong); abstract, 150 words. Good. He checked that the graphics were numbered, and several other details. Everything was in order.

 

The author was James Moriarty, Psychology professor. He changed the name for a computer generated number, and the program selected three experts he had to send the article to. He copied the title in the subject, and attached the file. And then he read the title, to make sure everything was right.

 

He read it again. And again. It hadn’t changed. He closed his eyes, breathed for a minute and read it again. _Increasing pain tolerance through regular administration since early childhood_. He paled, and read the abstract.

 

_The present works shows the effects of the administration of regular and consistent pain for long periods in a young subject. The subject was asked to grade the level of pain experimented in a scale from 0 to 100. The results show a decrement of the pain reported, correlated with the number of essays..._

Tom called his boss, and showed her the article. She called _her_ boss. After twenty minutes, all staff was there. It might be a joke. But in might be true. So they called the police.

****

 

 

Agent Lestrade was having a horrible day. His son, Greg, was having trouble at school, and his wife blamed him. Well, she blamed him for everything, lately. He arrived to his work in a dark mood, wanting only for the day to finish in order to go back home and try to fix things with his wife.

 

Two hours later they were arresting a university professor in his office. He didn’t resist or say anything.

 

Three hours later they were at the home of said professor with a search warrant. They found his wife, pale, thin and terrified, and a locked basement.

 

He showed her the warrant, and asked for the key. She read it, looking confused.

 

“I don’t have it. J...James has the only copy”, she whispered, barely audible.

 

He knocked at the door, and asked if there was anybody inside. There was no answer.

 

“Do you have a son?”

 

She paled and looked away. “He will kill me”, she muttered.

 

There was no mention of a child in any legal document. No birth certificate, no school report. Nothing. Professor Moriarty didn’t have children.

 

“He has been arrested. He won’t hurt you. Do you have a son?”

 

She nodded, and pointed to the locked door.

 

Ten minutes later the door was broken, and they entered the basement.

 

_There was a child there._

 

He was curled in the corner further form the door, looking at them without moving. He was small, and even thinner than his mother.

 

“What’s your name, kid?”, he asked in a friendly tone, as his team searched the room.

 

“James”, came the voice of his mother from upstairs.

 

The kid shivered at the name, and shook his head. “ _Jim_ ”, he said firmly.

 

It was the only thing anybody heard him say for weeks.

 

  

 

****

 

It was Mary’s first day. She had always wanted to be a nurse. She had studied hard, and now, finally, her dream had come true. She arrived to the hospital with a smile, and it didn’t leave her face for hours. At 12, she was exhausted, but happy. All the effort, all the sleepless night studying...it had been worth it.

 

She walked with the doctor to his next patient. There was a policeman at the door. It was a woman. The doctor examined her, and Mary noticed the thin body and the bruises on her body. Beyond that, nothing was wrong, and she was sent home.

 

There was also a policeman in the next room. A young boy, about ten. Short and thin, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was sat on the bed, staring at the wall. She wondered what was wrong with him, he didn’t seem to be in pain.

 

The doctor took the chart, and read it.

 

“I have to examine you, James. Can you take your clothes off?”

 

The child shivered and closed his eyes, and the policeman put a hand on his shoulder. The child ( _James?_ ) moved away from the touch with a panicked expression.

 

“It’s all right, Jim. They won’t hurt you”, the policeman said softly.

 

The kid looked terrified. Mary knew she had a sweet face, so she walked slowly to the bed. “Jim? Come here, please”, she said with a smile.

 

Jim did as she had said, but he didn’t look any less scared.

 

“My name is Mary. I’ll help you with your clothes, so the doctor can help you”, she said, moving his hands to the buttons of his shirt.

 

The boy froze, opened his mouth, and closed it again without saying anything. Mary looked at the doctor, who nodded.

 

She moved slowly, knowing that abuse victims reacted badly to sudden moves. When she opened the shirt, the boy looked away.

 

Mary wished she could look away too. She finished taking off his clothes, feeling sick. There where bandages, but she was used to that. Every single inch of Jim’s body, but the hands and face, was covered in scars. She removed the bandages carefully, to reveal several fresh cuts on the chest. Some were barely scratches. Others where deep, and had stitches. She realised that they were in sequence,from shallow to deep. Who did that to a child?

 

Needing something familiar to do, she started to clean the cuts. It should hurt, but the child didn’t move or showed any kind of reaction. When she had finished, the doctor examined him. When he had finished, he ordered some tests, and left the room, clearly as affected as she was.

 

When her shift ended, she was still thinking about Jim. She looked for his file, and read it. She regretted having done it as soon as she started to read. Broken bones, scars that were at least seven or eight years old...that wasn’t abuse, it was torture. There was a note at the end of the sheet, saying that the child didn’t speak, and was too thin, but apart from that and the cuts he was healthy and had been sent home with his mother.

 

For the first time since she was six, Mary wondered if she had chosen the right profession.


	2. Diagnosis

Jim walked inside his house behind his mother. He would come back, Jim had absolutely no doubt about that. But he would be ready for it. He had been planning this for a long time. His mother didn’t say anything. She knew, too. They could try to run away, but _he_ would find him. Jim had read his notes; his father needed him for his experiments, and would never leave him behind.

 

His mother went to her room and closed the door. Jim knew what was happening: she was taking sleeping pills to forget what was going on. She did it a lot lately. Hesitant, he walked upstairs, to the room where his father allowed him to sleep when he had behaved like he wanted Jim to. Jim knew there wouldn’t be anything in the basement, the police had taken everything. But he felt better in the room.

 

He had a computer there, and lots of books. When he was between experiments, his father had taught him. Reading and maths, at the beginning. Biology, Psychology, Chemistry....and everything that had to do with computers, later. Jim had read every single book in the house.

 

He had never been allowed to use the computer without supervision before, and he kept glancing over his shoulder nervously. His father would scape, he didn’t have much time. First he hacked into his father’s server (the password was ridiculously easy to guess), and read everything in there; then he created several email accounts and sent the files from ones to the others, before erasing everything. Nobody needed to know what his father had done to him, or what he had planned to do.

 

His father came in the middle of the night. He was pretending to be asleep when he heard him. He was ready. He had a penknife. It was small, but you could do a lot of damage if you knew how to use it. More, if the blade was poisoned. Killing him was ridiculously easy; he had never seen Jim as a threat. Getting rid of the body and erasing the evidence was slightly more challenging. He should feel safe, or relieved. But the fear was still there, and he felt numb.

 

 

****

 

There was no trial. No point, with his father officially on the run. But the police came to talk to them anyway. He didn’t say anything. His father had forbidden him to talk unless he had explicit permission for it. He was gone, and not coming back, but Jim felt unable to speak.

 

He listened silently as the social worker and the policeman talked to his mother. They talked about trauma and counselling. They talked and talked. What they meant was that he was crazy. He wanted to deny it, to tell them to go away. _Stupid child! Don’t make me repeat it again! No talking._ He remembered that lesson clearly, and remained silent as his mother agreed to everything they said. She always did that. She had fought _him_ , once. Only once.

 

That afternoon they took him to the hospital again. But instead of blood tests and analysis, he was sat in front of somebody who talked to him, insisting that he was safe. He didn’t know what that mean.

 

They made him talk to several people. But he remained silent. They also made him lots of tests. Some where easy, mathematical questions, vocabulary, logic. He liked those. Others where more difficult, about what he did in social situations. He had read about social situations, of course, but he had never left the house until yesterday, so he didn’t answer them. They weren’t happy about that.

 

There were more and more tests. About how people would feel in some situations. About how stressing different situations would feel. About _everything_. It was exhausting, specially given that he hadn’t slept at all last night.

 

Finally they finished, and his mother came in. He was so tired that he barely listened. More things about trauma. Lack of empathy. High intelligence. Psychotic tendencies.

 

He knew that last term. It was the polite way to say that he was evil.

 

They talked and talked, but he was tired, and didn’t listen. Why didn’t he feel safe? _He_ was gone, and never coming back.

 

He paid attention again when his mother signed a document. He took it before anybody could stop him. It was authorization to sent him to a centre until he was recovered. He felt betrayed. People where talking to him, but he refused to listen.

 

They took him away. He was allowed to pick some clothes, and anything else. He didn’t mind; these where not his things anyway.

 

That night he slept at the centre. It was the first of many nights.

 


	3. The centre

He was dreaming. He knew that, because the images changed too quickly to make any sense. _Pain, fear. His father face, looking at him. More pain. “Stop screaming and remember the pain scale, James. From 0 to 100, how much does it hurt?” He tried to focus, to give a number, but it hurt too much. “You don’t know? I’ll do it again” More pain. “85”, he cried. He knew what he had to do. He had read his father’s notes. He expected Jim to stop feeling pain if hurt him enough. “That’s better, James. What about this?” It was even worse, but he forced his body to relax. “A....about 70” His father smiled, and took more notes. “Good. Let’s try something different” More pain, more intense_. He woke up screaming.

 

It was his usual way of waking up, and he didn’t understand why everybody rushed into his room. He had always had nightmares, since he had memories. And suddenly he was surrounded by people, who talked at the same time, asking idiotic questions, like if he was all right. He didn’t say anything.

 

They gave him something that made him sleep without dreams, after that. He woke up feeling drained.

 

He knew there should be other patients in the centre, but he didn’t see anybody but nurses, doctors and therapists. Maybe there was nobody else. But that was expensive, and his mother didn’t have much money. He didn’t know why he was here, but he had learned long ago that he shouldn’t ask questions.

 

Therapy was pointless and dull. They kept telling him the same things, and asking him the same questions. He remained silent. After a while, the only thing he did was tests. He found it weird, but didn’t complain. It was better to listen once and again that he was safe and had to trust them.

 

He lost track of time. Every day looked the same. He ate, went where they told him to go, took his pills before sleeping. He was tired of fighting. He just wanted to be left alone, to go home. They gave him books, and he read. Most where about psychology. He read those with special care, looking for a clue of how to get out of there. He read about personality treats, about psychopathology, about dealing with trauma. About how to cope with anxiety.

 

He was given more and more medication, because he kept waking up screaming every day. It made it difficult to focus, and he felt exhausted, but he took it. Not doing what he was told to do would surely have him punished. So he did as he had done at home, where making sound had been dangerous. He still woke up from nightmares, but he cried against the pillow to avoid being heard.

 

 

****

 

 

_“Don’t worry about the noise, or he seeing you. He is retarded, doesn’t even speak”. Sounds: steps, voices. Was he dreaming? He didn’t know. Everything felt like a dream lately. His body was being moved, and he felt cold. He couldn’t even open his eyes. More voices. He tried to listen. “Yes, I see the scars, too. I’m not blind”. Whispers. “I don’t know, it was your idea. Close your eyes, you don’t have to look at him”. His mind went fuzzy again. And then he felt pain, inside him. He knew how to deal with pain; he distanced his mind from his body, ignoring it. Some time after, the nightmare became familiar again,  his father testing the effects of fire on his skin._

 

When he woke up, his memories of the night were confusing, but the pain was still there: not a dream.

 

He couldn’t stop taking the pills, or the doctors would notice, and force him to take them. Instead, he reduced the dosage. It had been definitely real, and happened again, almost every night. He pretended to be as drugged as the fist time, but observed them: they were the two men in charge of taking him to therapy and back. It made him feel...dirty. After living with his father, he had thought nothing could get to him, nothing could hurt him. But this....this was breaking him.

 

He had to get out of here.

 

If he could fool his father into believing he didn’t feel pain, he could fool these people into believing he was getting better.

 

 

****

 

Speaking was difficult, but he knew he had to, or they’d never let him go.

 

“James. How are you feeling today?”, the doctor asked, obviously not expecting an answer.

 

“Jim. Call me Jim”, he replied, surprised at how weak his own voice sounded.

 

He tried. He told them what they expected to hear. That things where slowly getting better. That he was no longer constantly afraid. He lied and lied. It was easy. But they didn’t let him go.

 

There where a lot of tests. Maybe too many. He read more books, and started to get suspicious. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Everyday there was at least one new test. Sometimes they repeated the old ones.

 

“I’ve already done this one”, he said one day.

 

The doctor looked at him with a smile which was obvioulsy fake.

 

“I know, Jim. It’s to test how much you’ve progressed since then”

 

It was a lie. But it sounded familiar, like something his father would have done. _You said last month this hurt about 20. Let’s see how much you’ve progressed._

So it was the same. More experiments. He read the test carefully. It was designed to grade PTSD. There was questions about flashbacks,  nightmares and anxiety, among others. He knew what the doctor expected, and he gave him that.

 

He didn’t say anything about what was going on at night. He didn’t trust them; even if they believed him, it would mean more time here, due to _trauma_.

 

****

 

He started to resist them, to tell them to stop. It didn’t work. _“Oh, but you like it, don’t you. Slut. Better enjoy it, nobody would ever want to touch you with that body”._ He tried threatening to tell somebody _.“Who would believe a crazy boy? Now shut up and cooperate, it would make it easier to everybody”._ He threatened to hurt them, and they just laughed at him. Until something happened. It was an accident; sometimes those things happens. One of them fell down the stairs and hit his head. Jim never found out if he had survived or not, but nobody dared to touch him again. The other man left soon after that.

 

Years later, he found him. He was working in another centre, and he sent an anonymous email saying that he was abusing a boy. It was true, and he was arrested.

 

 

****

 

Everybody was impressed with his _progress_. Idiots. He cooperated, did everything he was told to (mostly tests), and never complained. Never trusted them, either. Lying was safer than telling the truth, and would get him out of here sooner. 

 

Sometime after, his therapist got enough material for his research, and left. It was like his father, again. He was an experiment, something to be studied and observed. He hated it, and was glad when he left. Months later, when he was back home, he found the article; _Effects of long term abuse in emotional intelligence_.  He copied it with the ones his father had written.


	4. Learning

Julie Parker loved her work. She also loved challenges. Jim Moriarty was the biggest challenge she had found. He was clever, his score in the intelligence texts were the highest she had ever seen. She had read everything that had been tried with him, and the notes of the sessions. His former therapist was satisfied with Jim’s recovery, but she read between lines The child never complained about anything. He did all he was told to, and gave the right answers. The _exact_ right answers, every single time. It was too perfect to be true. People didn’t do that: there was always relapses and difficulties. Nothing was that perfect.

 

He studied his test results. They had measured everything: from intelligence to personality, and several things that were...unusual to test in this cases. Too many numbers, and not enough information.

 

She talked to the police officer who had found him, Lestrade. The files where protected, because he was under-age. She identified herself as Jim’s therapist, and was granted access. There was an article his father had written, detailing what he had done to the child. She read it carefully, looking for clues for the treatment. There was also a comprehensive medical report, with several photographs. That was even harder to look at. Finally, he read the interview with the mother, and all the documentation that followed.

 

It was the professor case. It had been in the tabloids for weeks. No names had ever been published, but the details fitted. A mad man who had a child in the basement. An university professor who had written a paper about how to torture children. She had even read descriptions of the injuries which fitted some of the ones Jim had.

 

When he had gathered all the available data, she decided that the best course of action was to be honest with the child.

 

****

 

 

Jim entered the room for his therapy, and saw somebody different. For once, she was younger. About thirty. He observed her as she read his report. A lighter patch of skin in a finger. Divorced? Casual clothes. Her body was relaxed and showed confidence. When he closed the door, she looked at him. Not with curiosity or pity. She was just observing him.

 

“Hello, Jim. Sit down, please”

 

He did what she said, curious.

 

“I’m Julie Parker. Your new therapist”

 

Obvious, he thought. “Hi”, he said, instead.

 

She observed him silently for a minute before speaking. “You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anybody. That’s fine. Do you want to get out of here?”

 

He nodded, silently.

 

“I’m offering you a deal. You learn what I have to teach you, and do as I tell you to do, and I’ll send you home”

 

There had to be a catch. He studied her carefully, observed her body language and facial expression. She was telling the truth

 

“You will have to go to school, and have therapy once a month.”

 

Jim looked at the hand extended to him. “How long do I have to stay here?”

 

“Six months”

 

Jim thought about it. But what other choice did he had? He shook her hand. “Deal”

 

 

****

 

 

Convincing the social worker in charge of the case that he would be better at home was easy. She already believed it. But Jim had never gone to school, didn’t know how to interact with people properly. He had anxiety problems, and recurrent nightmares. She couldn’t change what had happened to him, but could give him resources to face it better. She had six months to help him.

 

 

****

 

“You take sleeping pills”, she asked the second day

 

Jim nodded. It was in his file, surely.

 

“Do you think you could stop taking them?

 

Jim looked at her, hopeful. “I hate them. They make it difficult to think”

 

“I’ll take that as a yes”, she replied, smiling. “Today, I’m going to teach you how to breath”

 

“How to breath? That’s...” stupid, he was about to say.

 

“How to breath _right_. You know about anatomy, don’t you?”

 

He nodded, cautious.

 

“Show me where are your lungs”

 

Was she an idiot? She showed her, touching the sides of his chest, and then moving his hands down to his belly. “Here, under the ribs”

 

“Good. Keep your hands there, and breathe”

 

He did as she told him; he had promised.

 

“Are you using your whole lungs to breathe?”

 

He frowned. “No”

 

Maybe she wasn’t an idiot after all

 

****

 

 

 

Jim had never thought that breathing would be this difficult. Or that it was possible to do it wrong. He was lying on his bed, doing the exercises Julie had told him to. Close your eyes. Put a hand on your chest and the other on your belly. Breath so your chest doesn’t move. Fill your lungs totally.   He had to do this for at least half an hour before sleeping.

 

He had nightmares anyway. Every night. But he slept better, and felt more rested in the morning. And, without the pills, thinking was easier. He started to observe the people around him. Their habits, their weaknesses. It made him stop thinking about his own situation, and keep the memories from coming back.

 

****

 

 

Four months passed, and Julie had no complains about Jim. He was honouring his deal, and cooperating totally. She had taught him some elemental techniques to control anxiety: breathing, focusing, relaxation. She never asked him if they worked or not. There where no magic solutions, it would take time. Then she showed him how to control his thoughts, how to stop paying attention to his memories. That took more time. She knew that he was observant, and gave him books about non verbal communication. That might help him in social situations.

 

She gave him a computer with internet access, and encouraged him to use it. She did all she could, and hoped it was enough.

 

Jim mastered the techniques faster than any patient she had ever had. He could relax his mind and body, and control his breathing easily now. It was an useful resource to have.

 

****

 

“You’ve never made me make any tests”

 

That was new. Julie looked at him, and replied, carefully. “No. Why? Do you want to?”

 

“Of course not. But...without tests...how do you know if I’m getting better?”

 

She opened a drawer, and took out Jim’s file. She showed him the pages and pages of tests scores. “I think you’ve made enough tests, Jim. How do you know if you are getting better? Easy. Are you getting better?”

 

Jim looked at her, speechless.

 

Julie didn’t say anything, waiting for an answer.

 

“What I’m learning...helps”, he said after a while.

 

“See? I only have to ask you. No need for a test”

 

****

 

Only two months left, and there was a lot to do. Julie started to teach Jim social conventions, what would be expected from him at school, how to behave and react. The boy was surprised by most of what she said, and asked a lot of questions.

 

“No, nobody would punish you if you don’t know an answer. You’d just have a lower grade”

Jim looked at her, confused. “That can’t be true”

 

“Am I lying, Jim? I know you can tell”

 

“No, you aren’t”

 

****

 

“No, your class mates won’t know what had happened to you”

 

“The teachers will”

 

“Yes, that can’t be avoided. But they won’t tell”

 

“Fine”

 

 

****

 

“You told the nurse that his boyfriend was cheating on her”

 

“Yes”

 

“You shouldn’t do that. I know you notice things, but most people don’t”

 

“But it was the truth”

 

“I know”

 

“And I can’t stop knowing it”

 

“You can know it, there’s nothing wrong about that. But before telling it, you have to think about the effect it would have”

 

“All right”

 

 

****

 

 

Two months later, Julie hoped it had been enough. It was their last session.

 

“Am I really going home?”

 

“Of course. We had a deal”

 

Jim smiled, nervous. “I wasn’t sure”

 

“I never break a deal. Before you go, do you have any questions?"

 

Jim had lots of questions. First of all, why hadn’t his mother visited him, not even once. But he ignored those thoughts, and asked something different.

 

“If you could work anywhere, what would you do?”

 

Julie smiled sadly. “I would teach children what I taught you. Children without problems, at primary schools. Everybody should know that”.

 

Jim nodded, seeing that she was telling the truth.

 

“Good luck, Jim”

 

****

 

 

With the years, Julie had other patients, and she stopped thinking about Jim. Regularly she sent her project to several organisations, looking for funds, but nobody was interested in prevention. Until eight years later, a donation offered her the money she needed. The answer came with a letter. Just three words

 

_Thank you_

_Jim_


	5. Home

Louise Moriarty had never been close to her son. James hadn’t allowed it. Nineteen months after her husband was arrested, she still feared he would come back any day. Her bruises had healed, but the fear was still there. He would come back, she had absolutely no doubt about it; even if that nice policeman kept insisting that she was safe, she knew that she wasn’t, and she would never be.

 

She waited at the door, nervous. She had no idea of what to say to Jim.This had been the best for him. The doctors had said so, and had sounded so sure. The only thing she had to do had been to sign and authorize to let them publish the results of the therapy. No names would be mentioned, and it would help other children. This way Jim could have the best treatment, and it wouldn’t cost her anything.

 

She had believed it, then. Now, more than a year and a half after that, she wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t seen Jim since that day, because his doctor had said that visits could interfere with the treatment, and she had been too tired to fight.

 

When he came out of the building, she thought for a second that she was looking at James. Jim had grown, and walked with a confidence and a controlled expression that made it difficult for her to recognize her child in this stranger.

 

“Mum”, he said in a cold voice, kissing her cheek.

 

“Jim. You look....better”, she replied, feeling awkward. 

 

They entered the car, and she drove home. Jim didn’t say anything, but she felt his eyes fixed on her the whole time. What was she going to do now?

 

 

****

 

Jim entered the house after his mother. She had changed the furniture, and the walls were painted. He looked around, observing everything. Home. He supposed he should feel something: happiness, relief, anxiety, fear. But there was _nothing_. He walked to a chair, and sat down.

 

“What’s going to happen to me?”, he asked, studying his mother. She was tense.

 

She sat in front of him, and avoided to look at him. Curious.

 

“You have an appointment with a therapist at the local health center on Wednesday. And a meeting at school on Friday. Then you are supposed to start school on Monday”

 

He nodded. “What about you? Do you have a job?”

 

“No. I tried a few times, but....”

 

Jim heard what she wasn’t saying. She still jumped at every noise,  found new things difficult, and hadn’t worked since she had married Jim’s father.

He nodded again.

 

“Your father left some money. It will last until I find something”

 

He nodded again, and headed upstairs without saying anything. The room upstairs was exactly as he had left it. He walked inside, and sat on the bed, wondering why he was feeling so tired.

 

****

 

Jim went back downstairs, and found his mother in the kitchen. Of course. It was the only room in the house his father never went to. It felt...safe, in a way. She was cooking dinner, and Jim started to help her without saying anything.

 

They had done this before, when his father wasn’t home. Jim had loved those days, when his mother wasn’t so tense and taught him how to cook. They fell into the familiar routine, and, the next time he looked at his mother, she was looking at him with a shy smile. Things were easier after that.

 

Nights were difficult. His mother dealt with them with sleeping pills, but Jim only took them as a last resource. The nightmares had never left, but he didn’t remember a time when he had slept without them. He coped.

 

 

****

 

He hated his new therapist as soon as he first saw her. A glance told him that she would report everything to social services, and that he had to be very careful about what he said. So, as he walked inside, he put a mask on, the first of hundreds.

 

He let his shoulders fell down, showing insecurity, and adjusted his pace to fit that. He also avoided to look at her directly, and bit his lip every now and then.

 

“Sit down, James”

 

He flinched. “Can you call me Jim?”

 

“James is your name, you have to get used to it”

 

He nodded, and he didn’t have to pretend to be feeling miserable.

 

“My name is Joan. We’ll see each other once a month until you are eighteen. We’ll decide what to do then. Or sooner, if you need it. How are things going?”

 

“It was difficult at first. G-going back home, seeing the place again”, he lied. It was what was expected.

 

“What about your mother?”

 

“It was good to see her again. I-I missed her. We were close”

 

“What about the nightmares? Do you still have them? There’s no record of them in the last six months”

 

“Sometimes. But I know they are not real”

 

He lied and lied, saying what was expected of him. It seemed to work. An hour after he had come in, he left with an appointment for next month.

 

 

****

 

On Friday, he went to the school after the classes had finished. All the teachers were there. He was told to sit down, and to answer some tests. They were about school subjects, and he relaxed slightly. They were easy. He finished quickly and handed them to the man who was clearly in charge. He told him to come early on Monday, to see in which class would he be.

 

He spent Saturday on the internet, researching the school. He had to know what to expect. It was a big school, he found out, relieved. It would be easier to fade into the background. He hacked into the school network, looking for some information about himself. His file contained the grades of the tests he had done, and two reports: one from Julie, advising to put him with people of his age, and barely mentioning any diagnosis, and another one from his new therapist, Jane, describing him as a troubled child with _special needs_ , and advising to pay him special attention.

 

He also Googled his name. Nothing about him. Some of his father’s research (after all, they shared a name). There were several studies about pain. Some about behavioral modification; a paper about military training and resistance to torture. Lovely.

 

And then he remembered something a teacher had whispered to another. _The professor’s case._ After a second of hesitance, he Googled that. He had to know what his teachers believed to know about him.

 

There were hundreds of results, most of them tabloids. Somehow, his medical report had leaked. Not his name, luckily. The first site he visited had detailed images from his scars, and for the wounds he had had then. He glanced at them, and wished he hadn't done it when the images of how they had been done came to his mind. He could see it clearly in his mind, almost feel the pain, and the fear at the frustrated tone in his father voice, telling him that he wasn't doing it good enough.

 

And suddenly, he couldn't breath, or dismiss the memories, or even move. He tried to focus on the breathing exercises Julie had taught him, but it was hard. He closed his eyes to stop seeing the images, but he could still see them in his mind. And there wasn't enough air in the room.

 

It took him a very long time to regain control over his body. Even more to to so with his mind, and be able to read the articles. It was necessary.

 

None of them were even close to the truth. The only things they had got right were his wounds, and the fact that his father had been a professor. Apart from that, the details varied. A man had tried to publish a book about how to torture children, and had several orphans hidden in a cellar. A crazy professor had raised his child in a dungeon (with a _reconstruction_ of such place in graphic detail). Interviews with abused children, with psychologists, and with random people who had something to say about that. Even discussions about dead penalty and reinsertion. He looked at the dates: they’d been publishing about that case for nearly six months before it had started to be replaced by other news.

 

That night he didn't dare to sleep.

 

 

****

 

Sunday was strangely peaceful  He was tired, and nervous about school. He had a vague idea of how it would be, but he had never talked to anybody of his age before, and wasn't very sure of how to do it.

 

His mother didn't comment anything, but was always there, and the idea was strangely comforting.  She didn’t ask any questions, and Jim could notice she was nervous too. But they cooked his favorite meal, and played chess in the evening, and it was almost _normal_. 

 

That  night he dreamed about the time his father taught him how to read. He had no idea of how old he had been, but his father had apparently decided that no son of him would be illiterate. The lessons had been brutal, and his father had used them to write another article, _Effects of physical punishment in learning speed_. The results hadn't been good enough for him, because he hadn't tried to publish it. Jim had found it stored in his father’s server.

 

 

****

 

Monday morning arrived too soon.  He wasn't ready. But he didn't think he would _ever_ be ready. His mother drove him to school half an hour before the classes started.

 

“Jim”, she started, unsure “It would be fine”

 

“I know mum”, he replied, getting out of the car and walking inside. He went to the teacher’s room where he had been on Friday. Everybody was talking at the same time, and nobody payed him any attention. He sat silently in the same place, and waited.

 

They were arguing about him. Some said he should be with people of his age, others said his test results proved he should be in an advanced class. They talked and talked, and nobody asked his opinion.

 

Finally somebody noticed him. “James. Welcome. We were deciding what was best for you”

 

Jim observed the faces around them. Pity. He remembered what he had read, what they thought they knew. He could use that. Looking down and pretending to be nervous (well, pretending to be _more_ nervous than he was), he whispered, “Can you call me Jim?”

 

The room were silent after his words. And, like that, it was decided.

 

“Of course, Jim. You’ll be in my class, with people of your age. If you have any problem, or need anything, just let me know”

 

They had introduced themselves, probably, but Jim hadn't been paying attention. It was a man, about forty. He wore a ring, so married. He looked...worried about him, Good. He bit his lip, glanced at him for a second, and nodded, before staring to the floor again. It was what they expected, so he gave it to them.

 

He followed the man (What was his name? Something like...Mr Green? He had to pay more attention to those things), and they entered the classroom. 

 

He felt all the eyes fixed on him while the teacher introduced him. As Jim, not James. Good. He wasn't expected to say anything, so he walked to his seat, observing his classmates in a subtle way.


	6. Classmates

Sebastian observed the new boy. He was so...small, and looked shy. But it was somebody new, who wouldn't know about his father being in prison and his mother having no money. Somebody who might talk to him without mocking him. Maybe. But no, he would find out eventually and react like everybody else.

 

He didn’t know what to do. He was strong, and could easily beat anybody, but....it woud get him into trouble. Everybody in his year was smaller than him, and when he fought to defend himself, it was him who looked guilty.

 

He decided to try to talk to the new boy, Jim, at lunch. What had he to lose?

 

 

****

 

John didn't even notice somebody new entering the classroom. Everything hurt, and he was too focused on trying to hide it. But pain wasn't the worst part of it. He could deal with pain. The worst were the memories of what had happened last night. When the memories threatened to overwhelm him, he pressed the cut he had made this morning on his wrist  and the sharp pain made them fade away. Nobody could know. It was his fault, after all.

 

****

 

Greg smiled at the new boy. It was what was expected from him. Reliable and friendly, president of the class. The perfect boy. But his smile froze when the teacher introduced him. _Moriarty_. It was the case that had his father away so many hours a day. He had read the file once, when his father had brought it home. The child was a psychopath, or something like that. And that professor he had for father had abused him, and run away. His father was obsessed with finding him, and his parents fought all the time. Because of this _boy_. But people were watching him, so he smiled.

 

****

 

Jim found everything overwhelming. Too many people, talking at the same time. But he had to do this, or they'd send him back  _there_. So he tried to focus on the lessons. But it didn’t work, everything was ridiculously easy, and he already knew most of it. So, after ten minutes, he started to observe his classmates, which proved to be marginally more interesting.

 

Reading body language was almost an instinct to him now. So was observing every detail that could be useful. He needed all the information he could gather, in order to interact with them.

 

Most of the students were boring and predictable. He spent the morning observing them. All the  classes were as easy as the first one, and no teacher asked him any questions, so he focused on the people around him. He didn't talk to them at first; he needed the information, in order to know what to do.  

 

Some of them were a bit more interesting. There was a tall boy in the back of the room, with a second-hand uniform, who looked at him with a strange expression. A short and blond one who moved a bit too carefully. Jim knew that way of moving. He had been beaten. And he looked...ashamed? He kept observing him. Every now and then he glanced to a spot in his arm, with a expression between shame and relief. It was...intriguing.

 

There was also somebody who looked...familiar. Weird. He was sure he hadn't met any of them before. A tall, dark haired boy with a friendly smile. Maybe he could try to talk to him later. He focused on him, observing closely. New clothes, so no older siblings. His face showed signs of, at least, a sleepless night. Something was worrying him, and, now that he was paying more attention, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. But it was a familiar face in this crowd of strangers, and, at least, he looked friendly.

 

At lunch time, he started to follow his classmates out of the room, but the teacher stopped him to ask how everything was going. He said what was expected of him, and went to find the cafeteria.

 

He had seen the blueprints of the building when he had looked for information about school, but being actually here was much different. He walked slowly, exploring his surroundings, and he realised that he was lost.

 

 

****

 

Greg had been following Jim Moriarty. He wasn’t sure exactly why he had been doing it, other than the curiosity to know the child who had made his father forget about him and his mother. He was an idiot. Where was he going? There were nothing in this corridor, only classes and a bathroom which had been out of service since he had remembered.

 

He was being careful, but somehow Jim noticed that he was being followed, and turned to face him with a defensive expression.

 

“Jim Moriarty, isn’t it? Greg Lestrade”, he said with the smile that had charmed all the teachers.

 

“Lestrade?”, Jim repeated, relaxing slightly. No wonder he looked familiar. He should be the son of that policeman. There was something slightly off in his smile, but he decided to ignore it. Maybe it would be nice to have somebody to talk to. “You look tired. You didn’t sleep last night”, Jim stated, because it was true.

 

Greg tensed comment. For some reason he was finding him irritating. This boy was the cause of his parent’s problems. If he had been strong enough to solve his problems on his own, his father wouldn’t be spending so many hours at work. He was tired, because his parents had spent the whole night shouting at each other. Because of this stupid, annoying boy. And he dared to say that? “My father told me about you. A pity you were so weak to need rescuing”, he said, barely controlling his anger.

 

Jim’s mind reacted at the attack with another attack. He shouldn’t  trust Greg. So he told him, in a cold and controlled voice, everything he had observed about him; about his parents having problems (obvious in the way he reacted as he talked about his father), about him pretending to be perfect, and how Jim could see behind that. He told him everything, looking him in the eyes and without letting any emotion show on his face.

 

Greg knew he shouldn’t. That it would get him into trouble. But he couldn’t think,  not with this...psychopath, stating facts about his life as if they weren’t important. Who did he think he was, to say things like those? His parents were not getting a divorce, he was lying. So he hit him, again and again, just to make him shut his mouth.

 

The next thing Jim felt was pain. It had been a long time since he had been in pain, and he hadn’t missed it. But he didn’t react at all, didn’t move or try to defend himself, hoping that Greg would get tired and leave. And planning how to hurt Greg, and how to make sure nobody would hurt him again in this school. He needed power.

 

 

****

 

Sebastian had stolen a key of the broken bathroom of the third floor long ago. Nobody had missed it, it was clear that they weren’t going to fix it any time soon, and it gave him a place to go where nobody would bother him. Everybody knew that this door was locked, so he was surprised when he saw the door opening. It was the new boy, Jim. Somebody had beaten him, and he was barely keeping it together. He closed the door behind him, and Seb noticed that his hands were trembling.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Jim needed to be alone, to regain control over himself. He had thought that everybody would be eating, and jumped at the voice. Was somebody else going to hit him?

 

Jim looked at the stranger in the bathroom. He was much bigger than him. He had heard things about him. “You are Sebastian. Your father is a thief”

 

Sebastian looked down. He was used to this. Why had he expected it to be different this time? “He didn’t do it”

 

Jim focused on the other boy instead of in the pain. He was telling the truth.

“Then why is he in prison?”, he asked, curious.

 

Sebastian looked at Jim again. Nobody had asked, nobody had believed him before. So he told Jim everything. How his father had been at home with them, and how somebody had made his father look guilty.

 

“If he had stolen it, we would have money”, he finished.

 

Jim observed the state of his clothes, and agreed with him. “I could help you”, he replied. At least it would give him something to focus his mind on.

 

“Really?”, Sebastian asked, not quite believing it. “What could you do? And why would you do it?”

 

“Your father is innocent  That means somebody else did it. I could find out who it was. In exchange of....” He thought for a minute. “Protection, and loyalty”.

 

Jim extended a hand to Sebastian. “So....do we have a deal?”

 

Protection. Well, he clearly needed it. And...if he really could help....Sebastian took the hand. “We have a deal”

 

 

****

 

Jim let Sebastian help him with his wounds. After all, it was part of the  _protection_  part. To his surprise, the boy stayed with him the rest of the day. He didn’t speak much, but nobody bothered them. Even Greg kept his distance.

 

He thought for a second about talking to the other boy who had looked interesting before, but he had lunch with Greg, and they were always together, so he decided against it.

 

Jim left for home, thinking about his day. It hadn’t be so bad, after all. He needed power, so he could be safe. He had to find out people’s weakness, and find ways of controlling them. At least it would be interesting.

 

Hacking into the police’s network and reading Sebastian’s father file wasn’t hard. And finding out who had stolen the money was easier. He sent an anonymous tip to the police, it would be enough.

 

His mother made his favourite food for dinner, and asked him about his day. Jim told her everything but the incident with Greg, and she looked happy. Things were going to be alright.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Power

Sebastian still found it difficult to believe how much his life had changed in two months. When he had told his mother about the deal he had made with Jim, she had said that it was good that he protected the other boy. Sebastian had felt like a fool. What  could possibly Jim make to help his father?

 

Three weeks after that, his father was a free man. And not only that. The government had given him a lot of money to compensate the time he had spent in prison, and his parents had opened a shop with it.

 

His parents adored Jim, even more than he did. When they were at his house, Jim smiled a lot, and he was more relaxed than Seb had ever seen him. Not totally, and there was something...off about his smile, but, again, Jim was always tense.

 

And Jim was...brilliant. Even when his father was still in prison, nobody had bothered Seb again at school. Jim knew when he had to beat somebody, or just threat them, in order for people to respect them. As long as he did what Jim told him to do, things were fine.

 

Seb had no idea of how Jim did it. He seemed to know things about people with just a glance, the same he had done with him. But it was more than that, much more. He knew how to use that knowledge.

 

The first time he had seen it, it had been to protect Seb. He was supposed to protect Jim, and not the other way round, and, indeed, he had protected him. Nobody had put a hand on Jim since their deal. But sometimes Seb needs protecting too. A girl had been teasing him about his clothes, and he hadn’t known what to do. He couldn’t hit her, and if he told a teacher, everybody would laugh at him. And then Jim had walked to the girl, with a smile on his face, and whispered something in her ear. She had paled, and.... apologized. Seb still couldn’t believe it.

 

After that, he had seen it happening a lot of times. A word, or even a gesture from Jim, had people doing exactly what he wanted. And, when after two months of this, things changed again. Seb didn’t ask why.

 

****

 

George entered the classroom without looking at anybody. Another day. He already knew how it would be. Nobody was going to talk to him, if it was a good day. Maybe it would be a bad day, and the would laugh at him and call him names. Or maybe it would be a _very_ bad day and....he shook his head. Better not to think about it. He was just so tired... He didn’t know how long he could stand this. If they hated him for something he had done, maybe he could have fought back. But he had done nothing. Or, at least, nothing he could change.He sat, looking at the window, hoping that the day would past quickly.

 

But today was different. Nobody hit him, or bothered him at all. Some people were even nice to him. It was too good to be true.

 

At the end of the day, a huge boy he didn’t know walked to him, and told him to follow.

 

“W-why? Who are you?”, he asked, scared.

 

The other boy didn’t answer, and started walking. After a second of hesitation, George followed him. He was led to the bathroom of the third floor. The other boy knocked and opened the door. It was supposed to be locked. George looked at his face, but found no answers there.

 

“Thank you, Seb. Wait outside, please”

 

George shivered at the voice. There was something terrifying in it. When the boy (Seb?) left and closed the door behind him, he was so scared that he couldn’t move.

 

“Look at me, George”

 

He looked up, to see another boy he didn’t know. Small, mabe two years behind him. But, even if he was small, he didn’t look weak.

 

“I’m Jim. Jim Moriarty.”

 

The name didn’t mean anything to him, so he didn’t answer. Jim smiled, but it didn’t make him feel safer. Rather the opposite.

 

“How was your day, George?”

 

“G-good”

 

“What would you give me, if I could make every day like today?”

 

George stared at Jim, and tried to imagine it. No more fear, no more pain. “Anything”, he whispered, no longer scared.

 

“If I do this, you’ll owe me a favour. I can ask anything from you, at any time. Think about it carefully”

 

George thought about it. But...if Jim really could make that happen, it was worth it.

 

Jim extended a hand towards him. “Do we have a deal?”

 

George shook his hand.

 

 

****

 

Alice was scared. Since she had dumped her boyfriend, his team mates didn’t leave her alone. It was only words, so far. It wasn’t her fault if she had fallen in love with somebody else. But, after two years as a couple, and without any visible cause for the break up, his friends blamed her. People say words couldn’t hurt you, but they were wrong.

 

“I could make make this stop. I could keep you safe”

 

Alice had been crying in an empty classroom, and hadn’t heard the door opening. She looked at who had spoken. A boy, about twelve or thirteen.

 

“How could you do that?”, she answered bitterly.

 

“Oh, that’s my secret. Don’t worry about the methods, worry about the results. See it for yourself. We’ll talk tomorrow”

 

“W...what?”, she asked. But the boy had already left.

 

The rest of the day was strange. The boys from the team didn’t even go close to her. After the last class, she waited outside, hoping to see that boy. She didn’t even know his name.

 

He came out shortly after, walking with a much larger boy, and looked at her with a smile.

 

“I could make this permanent. For a price”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“You’ll owe me a favour”

 

She looked at him, suspicious. “What kind of favour? I don’t even know your name”

 

“Jim Moriarty”, he replied, still smiling. He studied her in silence for about a minute. “A favour means...you do what I say, when I say it, without asking any questions”

 

“As long as it doesn’t mean hurting anybody, I agree to that?”

 

“So...do we have a deal?”, Jim asked, offering her his hand

 

She took it without hesitation. “We have a deal”

 

 

****

 

Jim never felt safe. He knew his father was never coming back, but the fear never left. He couldn't control that, but he could control everything else.

  
It started with secrets. Knowing secrets, and threatening to tell them, made a lot of people fear him. But fear from people didn't mean safety. Somebody could still find a way of hurting him. So, after a while, when enough people feared him, he started to offer help in exchange of favours. It was easy. There was a lot of people at school who were desperate enough to do anything if he helped them.

 

The fear was still there, but after a few months he knew he owed favours or loyalty of about a third of school. Everybody needed something. Fear was useful, too. He knew secrets, and people knew that, and didn't dare to oppose him because of that. 

 

But he felt true power the first time somebody went to him asking for help. About a year after he had started school, Seb told him that a girl had asked to talk to him. When he met her, she told him that she had heard that he could fix anything,and was willing to pay any price he asked for the help.

 

He helped her, of course, and soon everybody knew about it. Between fear, and favours, he owed almost everybody at school. And the ones he couldn't control that way, he threatened. Everybody cared about somebody.

 

A few people, he left alone. Greg, and his sister, because even after what he had done to Jim, he was still the son of the man who had saved him. John, because something in him remind Jim of himself, and, besides, he wasn't a threat, to him or to anybody. And whoever Seb asked him to.

 

And yet, he didn't feel safe, and the nightmares didn't stop, not for a single night.

 

 

****

 

Jim hated therapy. Once a month, he had to go and talk for an hour, knowing that everything he said was being recorded and would be used for his evaluation. To make it worse, there was a different person almost each month. They had the notes and recording of the previous sesions, of course, so Jim kept saying what they expected to hear.

 

All of them insisted in calling him James, so he had learned to hide his reaction at the name. When he hacked into the hospital network, he read in his file that it meant a great advance. Idiots.

 

At first, he tried to do some of the things they told him to do. After all, some of the things Julie had taught him had been useful. Well, to be honest, all of them. But it wasn't the same.

 

 

“You have go get used to your own body. The reports say that you have problems looking at yourself”

 

Jim nodded, and pretended to be ashamed of it. “Y-yes, I-I find it...difficult”, he replied, looking down to reinforce the sensation of insecurity.

 

 

He was told to look at himself at the mirror, naked, every night. Start with a short time, and make it longer each night, as he breathed deep and slowly.

 

That night he tried. But even a glance at the scars brought to his mind the memory of when they’d been made. He remembered the pain, and the helplessness, almost as if it were happening in that moment. He could almost feel the pain. And, after that first glance, he could’t breath, and the fear came back stronger than ever.

 

He didn't dare to sleep for three nights after that. And when he couldn't stay awake anymore, the nightmares were stronger than before.

 

Next month, when he was asked about how it had gone, he smiled weakly, and said that it was getting easier each night. Being able to fool them was power too.

 

 


	8. Growing up

Nothing changed for a couple of years. School was no longer a challenge; the subjects never had been, and, slowly, he had understood how to control people. It had became boring and predictable. Therapy was as pointless as always, but by now he had got used to it and it barely bothered him. Only the thought of that final evaluation, when he turned eighteen and his future would be decided made him a bit nervous.

 

He couldn’t go back to the centre. It would destroy him. So he started to prepare a contingency plan. How to run away, without anybody finding him. It wasn’t difficult, but he needed money for that. He was underage, and nobody would offer him a job.

 

The first time wasn’t planned. He was researching for a project at school, when he found a website that offered a reward to anybody who hacked into their database and reported its weakness. Jim could hack into anything, computers were easy.

 

Three months later he had enough money in several paypal accounts to go anywhere he wanted, and that made him feel a bit safer.

 

Two months after that he got an email in one of his accounts, offering him a much larger amount of money if he could get some information from a secure website. It was dangerous, but he was very good and, after that, money was no longer a problem.

 

****

 

Louise Moriarty had been trying to get a job for years. But she had no experience, and it wasn’t easy. She managed a couple of times, but never last long. Between the sleeping pills and the medication for anxiety, she found it difficult to focus. And then she started to forget things. Nothing important, and she managed to hide it, but it bothered her. It didn’t follow a predictable pattern, but she couldn’t remember the name of common things. No. It wasn’t that she didn’t know it. The name was there, on the tip of her tongue. She just couldn’t remember it.

 

She got more and more distracted, and, after some time, she gave up trying to find a job. Jim told her that he had invested his father’s money, and they had enough. It was a relief.

 

****

 

Sebastian was worried about Jim. He started to spend more and more time at his house, and never invited him to his place. Not that Sebastian had asked. He had learnt long ago not to ask Jim any questions about his past or his personal life. That didn’t mean he didn’t know anything. He wasn’t stupid, and was almost constantly with Jim. He always wore long sleeves, even in the hottest days, and flinched at unexpected touches. Something bad had happened to him, something very bad. But he didn’t say anything, He was no longer protecting Jim because of the deal. Slowly, he had became a friend, the first he had ever had. Even if Jim didn’t trust him totally; it didn’t matter, because Jim didn’t seem to trust anybody.

 

****

 

Some days, the school organised something different. Like the compulsory conferences of sexual education. They were pointless, because everybody in their class could get all the information they needed from the internet, but they were forced to attend anyway.

So Jim listened to a boring speech of two hours about the biological changes of puberty, and ignored the nervous giggles of some of his classmates. And then he started to pay attention, although he pretended not to. They were talking about safe sex, and contraceptives, and the diseases you could get from unsafe sex. He tried to remember, but the memories were blurry, he had been too drugged to remember anything clearly. What if he was sick?

 

He was fourteen, but he was small for his age, and looked like twelve. He couldn’t just walk into the clinic and say he had had unprotected sex, could he?

 

When he went back home, he researched it, and turned out that yes, he could, and the results would be confidential. But he knew his medical file, and it would look suspicious and require further  _evaluation_. So he made a fake ID. It wasn’t so hard if you had the money and contacts, which he had. It said he was fifteen, and he dressed accordingly. He also changed his body language to fit that persona.

 

The worst part was rolling up his sleeve and letting the nurse see the marks on his skin. But she didn’t comment anything.

 

A week later he went back for the results. Clean. He decided to forget about it, and pushed the memory to the deepest part of his mind. He wouldn’t remember it again for years.

 

****

 

Another consequence of that conference was that he started to pay attention to romantic relationships. They didn’t make much sense to him, but it was the only thing most of his classmates thought about. It was power, of sorts.

 

He observed, and it started to look much more complicated that it seemed. The concept of attraction was intriguing, but not so difficult to understand. A biological imperative to ensure the survival of the species. Love, on the other hand....that made no sense. So he focused on the external signs, and the observable behaviour.

 

Kissing looked like the right place to start. He researched as much as he could, but there was just so much he could learn without practising.

 

That was tricky. Because he couldn’t let anybody see his skin, and that was an important part of relationships. He wasn’t really interested in dating people, but it would be an interesting way of controlling people. Maybe kissing would be enough, if he was good enough at it.

 

He listened to the rumours. If he was going to learn, he’d do it from the best. A girl in the last year. Irene. Everybody agreed about that. He had nothing on her, but she was clever enough to make a deal. He just had to find out what she wanted.

 

****

 

He waited for her at the entrance. She was physically pleasant, but that wasn’t that important. It was the confidence. And...something else. Something he wanted to have, too.

 

“Irene”, he said with a cold and controlled smile, starting to walk besides her.

 

“Jim Moriarty”, she said, amused. “Am I in trouble?”

 

“That depends. Do you want to be?” He rose a brow.

 

What she wanted turned out to be power. What else? At least that was something Jim could understand. She would only be at school for a few months anyway, and Jim could give her that. Just appearing to date him would give her a great amount of power, and she was clever enough to see it.

 

****

 

That afternoon, he went to Irene’s house, and she lead him to his room.

 

“So you want to learn how to kiss?”, she teased.

 

“No, dear. I want to learn how to  _control_  people by kissing them”

 

She grinned. ”Well, that’s more difficult. You have to be able to anticipate what the other person is expecting. And give it to them, but only to an extent. A bit of unpredictability always help. And...knowing your reputation, you’ll be expected to be dominant. I can teach you that”

 

When they kissed, Jim didn’t feel anything. It was pleasant, of course, but he couldn’t see why it was such a big deal for everybody. He learnt the technique, and soon he was as good as Irene.

 

They  _broke up_  shortly after. She said he needed to practise with other people, because he knew her reactions too well. So he did it. It was strange, because he could see some of those people grow emotionally attached to him, while he felt nothing. Maybe something was broken inside him.

 

****

 

Sebastian started to date people, too, and that annoyed him. He realised that emotion. Maybe he liked him. An afternoon, in Sebastian’s room, he decided to find out.

 

“You always say you’d do anything for me”

 

Sebastian nodded, suddenly tense.

 

“I want you to kiss me”

 

“Kiss you? Why? I...I’m not gay, Jim. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

 

Jim glared at him. “What does being gay has to do with anything?”

 

“Seriously? It has to do with who are you attracted to. In my case, it’s girls. It’s them who I want to kiss”

 

“Oh, come on. It’s just a kiss.”

 

Sebastian hesitated, but finally nodded.

 

The kiss was nice, far nicer than with Irene or any of the other people he had been with, but he didn’t feel anything. He moved away, smiling. “Thank you, Seb. Now let’s finish that History essay”

 

Sebastian laughed. “I’ll never understand you, Jim”

 

The experience told him that he liked kissing boys more than kissing girls, but  nothing else. Sebastian was still there, as loyal as always, and continued to date stupid girls. None lasted long, because they were scared of Jim. And Jim no longer cared, as long as Sebastian didn’t spend a lot of time with them.


	9. Hell

There was something wrong with his mother. Jim didn't notice, at first. It started with tiny things; she forgot the name of some objects, and she looked confused sometimes. Jim didn’t give it much thought, because she took medication for anxiety and for sleeping, and those were common side effects. Until one day, she forgot to buy food. It wasn’t important, really. But it happened again. And again. So Jim learnt how to make food out of whatever was left in the kitchen, and started to do the shopping himself, after school. His mother didn’t seem to notice.

 

She forgot other things, too. Like getting dressed in the morning. Or whether she had eaten or not. So Jim decided to take her to a doctor.

 

That was tricky, because if his doctors knew that his mother wasn’t fine, they would take him back to the centre. So he took her to a private clinic, under a fake name. Money wasn’t an issue, after all.

 

Five months and several doctors later, he had a diagnosis. Dementia, associated to an anxiety disorder. That wasn’t useful, because there was no treatment. She was already taking medication for anxiety, and there was nothing against her kind of dementia. The only thing he could do was wait, and see how his mother lost more and more memories every day. Which, given the nature of her memories, maybe wasn’t such a bad thing for her, after all.

 

So he waited, and took care of her. Things at school were going fine, relatively speaking. People didn’t bother him much, he had enough power to feel almost safe, and the subjects were ridiculously easy.

 

It was hard. Jim wasn’t used to taking care of people. And his mother didn’t seem to value it at all, mostly because she forgot about it shortly after. And he couldn’t tell anybody, because if he did, he would be sent back to the clinic. Or to a foster home, with people he didn’t trust.

 

That fear appeared in his dreams, too, mixed with his memories. So he started to sleep less and less, trying to avoid the nightmares. When it was too much, he took a sleeping pill. They made him wake up almost as tired as he had been before, but he didn’t have any dreams.It was a last resource, and he only did it when he couldn’t take it any more, because it reminded him too much of the times he had been drugged at the clinic.

 

It was one of those days, after a week without almost sleeping, he had taken a sleeping pill in order to get some rest. In the morning, he went to say goodbye to his mum before going to school, and that was the moment when something broke inside him.

 

 

****

 

 

Louise woke up in an empty bed, like most mornings. It meant it was a good day. Or, at least, better than the other option. James rarely came to her bedroom, and last time had been months ago. She frowned, confused. The room looked slightly different. Even the colour of the walls was wrong. Her head felt strange, and focusing was difficult, so she ignored it and focused on the good things. James wasn’t here this morning.

 

No. No, that wasn’t that good. Because if he wasn’t here, it meant he probably was downstairs, hurting Jimmy. She had tried to stop it, at the beginning, but it hadn’t worked; it only had made things worse for Jimmy and for her, so she didn’t dare to interfere anymore.

 

She closed her eyes, tired, wanting to stay in bed. But she couldn’t. She had to get up, and get dressed, no matter how bad she was feeling or how much her head hurt. It was one of James’ rules, she had to look good. He said he had a public image, and she had to fit that.  

 

The clothes were different too, but that couldn’t be right. No. Of course not. She was imagining things. She had to get dressed before James came back.

 

And then she heard a soft knock at the door. She froze. James never knocked, so that meant something new. And new, with James, meant dangerous. She looked at the clothes in the wardrobe, nervous. She wasn’t dressed. James was here too soon, and she wasn’t dressed yet. She had broken a rule, and that would make him angry.

 

“Mum? Are you awake? I’m going to school.”

 

Now James was talking, and she had been too nervous to pay attention to his words. That was dangerous too, and made her even more nervous. She took the first thing she grabbed form the wardrobe. Maybe she still had time.

 

The door opened slowly, and  _he_  came inside the room. She moved a step away, unconsciously, and lowered her eyes like she know he liked.

 

“James, I....I’m sorry, I....”, she muttered, holding the clothes tightly

 

“Mum? Calm down, it’s me, it’s Jim”

 

Louise felt a hand touching her, and tried to get away, despite knowing that it wouldn’t work because he was blocking the door and there was no other exit. Almost panicking, she ran to the furthest corner of the room, and covered her face and body with her arms as good as she could.

 

“No....no, please...I...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I...I’ll do better next time, I...I....promise”, she sobbed. It wouldn’t work. It never had.

 

“Mum,  _please._ ”

 

She closed her eyes, and prepared herself for what was going to come. Breaking a rule deserved a punishment. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and screamed.

 

She knew she shouldn’t, that it would only make him more angry, but she couldn’t help it. And he was talking and talking, and she couldn’t pay attention or calm down enough to understand any of the words, but something was wrong and she had no idea of what it was.

 

Strangely, the scream seemed to work, because the hand moved away. She didn’t relax, because it didn’t necessarily mean that this was over.

 

“Thank you, I....I p...promise it w...wont happen again”, she whispered without moving or opening her eyes. She heard somebody crying, and that was wrong too, but she didn’t dare to open her eyes in case he gor angry again.

 

Finally, she heard footsteps going away, and the door opening and closing. She was alone again, and allowed herself to relax a bit.

 

She took a shower, because if she broke the rule again she knew she couldn’t avoid the punishment, Then she went back to the bedroom and started to get dressed.

 

She stopped, confused, Why was she getting dressed? She was tired, she should be going to bed. Yes. That’s it, she was going to bed. It made sense. So she changed again, and went back to sleep.

 

 

 

****

 

Jim went back to his room, trying to forget the fear on his mother’s face. He wasn’t like his father. He wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault if they looked so alike. He sobbed again, and buried his face in the pillow, not wanting his mother to hear him.

 

After a while, he managed to stop crying, although he didn’t feel any better. He got up and washed his face carefully, erasing any trace of tears from it. Then he looked at himself in the mirror, and relaxed his facial muscles until he was sure no emotions showed on his face.

 

He went downstairs and glanced at his mother’s door again. Silence. He guessed that was good. At least better than before. He sighed, and headed to school.

 

He was late, but the teachers didn’t mind. He had passed all his tests on that stupid testing they had done to him the first day, and he was only forced to attend due to his  _lack of emotional maturity_. Or, at least, that was what his file said. It meant that he didn’t have to worry about classes or tests. He didn’t like school much, but it was better than the alternative. He didn’t want to be sent back.

 

As the lessons passed, he began to feel anxious again. How could everybody act so...normal? Nothing have changed at school, and he was finding more and more difficult to keep his mask on. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened.

 

 

****

 

 

Sebastian had noticed a change in Jim lately. He looked tired, and was almost all the time on edge, reacting violently to things that wouldn’t usually bother him. But when he had asked him what was going on, Jim had said that it was none of his business, and hadn’t talked to him for two days. By now, he knew better than asking.

 

Something looked different today. Jim’s face was totally blank, and that always meant he wasn’t fine. So he wasn’t surprised when, in the middle of a lesson,  Jim got up suddenly and headed towards the door.

 

The teacher didn’t say anything, they never did, no matter what Jim did. Sebastian had no idea of how Jim did that. He looked at Jim, and their eyes met. Sebastian wanted to help, to make sure Jim was okay. Jim must have read something on his expression, because he shook his head slightly. For a moment, Sebastian considered ignoring him, because Jim looked as if he needed help. But when he started to move Jim glared at him and left the room.

 

 

****

 

 

Jim couldn’t take it any more. Keeping his mask on was taking too much effort, and he couldn't stop thinking once again about what had happened. How scared his mother had been. Of him. How it would never get better. How she would get worse every day. How his doctors would find out, sooner or later, and he would be sent back to the centre or a foster home.

 

When it was too much, he left the classroom. He couldn’t be seen crying, nobody would respect him anymore. He would be seen as weak, and people would try to hurt him. So he walked, almost running through the deserted corridors, and went to the first place he found where he could be alone. He entered the closest bathroom and locked himself inside. Then he dropped his mask, and cried silently until he had  no tears left.


	10. Mirror images

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I wanted to write when I started this fic. The story of what happened between Jim and John. But I couldn't get it right. So my amazing beta, tearmyheartopentofeel, offered to help me. She ended up writing almost half of it with me. So...here you have it. Longer than usual, and a bit different too.

John's day had started out horrifically. Usually, in the mornings, he could get out the door without much of an issue. Maybe an insult here, a slap there. But this morning had been different. It took a lot more to get out of bed than usual, his father and his friends having taken their time the night before to rip him apart and rape him again and again.   
He despised how he was forced to live, hiding it day after day what his family put him through.  
  
But that morning had been so much worse. He'd been barely able to walk, his eyes sporting dark circles and bags, something he attempted and failed to hide every day. On his way downstair, his father grabbed him from behind.  
  
"Where do you think you're going, boy?" He growled in John's ear, hand wrapping around his neck.  
  
"S-school, sir." He croaked, closing his eyes against the reignited pain.  
  
"So early? Tim stayed over, wants to say goodbye.." The man trailed off, the sick smile evident in his voice.  
  
John flinched. "Please, just let me go to school." He pleaded, struggling - stupid decision.  
  
His father kicked John's leg's from under him, holding him up by his neck as John clawed at his hands. "You'll do as I say, boy." The man slurred, the stench of alcohol making it's way into John's nose.   
  
"I will - I swear." John managed to gasp out, fighting for breath.  
  
Without another word John was dragged into the spare bedroom where a man was sprawled half naked, a bottle of beer dangling dangerously in his hand. Oh, god.  
  
John forced himself to go towards the man, to comply to what was asked of him. He had no choice anyway. He was only glad he'd gotten up earlier than usual.  
  
That was the first of many times that this would happen - doing this before school like it was normal. 

 

****

 

 

Greg waited outside school, waiting on John as he usually did. Except John was later than usual, and when he appeared at the gate, he looked like hell. He looked exhausted and seemed to be having a tough time walking. He remembered briefly how John had promised, in a letter, to tell him something important. Was this it? He hurried over to help John before the poor lad toppled over. He'd been worried for a while, growing suspicious of John flinching away from his touch and from his questions. Like he didn't trust him. Their relationship, on an intimate level, was new, but Greg was keen to see it succeed.   
  
John clung to Greg as they walked towards the school. When Greg had John firmly set against a wall in the bathroom for support, not bothered about getting to class, he offered John a cigarette witch the blonde took gratefully, taking a long drag after he'd lit it. He let out the smoke in a sharp huff, closing his eyes.  
  
"Remember when I told you I need to tell you some stuff?" He began slowly, watching the cigarette burn.  
  
Greg nodded with a small frown. "Yeah, why?"  
  
"I reckon I should probably tell you now.." He cleared his throat nervously, tapping ash off the cigarette. "You know how you keep asking about those bruises and stuff?"  
  
"Mm." Greg nodded once more, taking a drag of his own cigarette.  
  
"Yeah well. That's from my dad. My mum too." He sniffed, staring at the ground.   
  
"John.. Do they hurt you often?" Greg asked softly, the gears spinning in his head, glad John wasn't able to see the small sliver of glee flash over his face.  
  
"Yeah.. Since I was little. And I wouldn't mind, you know? It's just.. It's gotten harder to deal with lately and I feel like you're the only person who cares about me. I couldn't stand if I lost you or anything like that. I-I need you.. And I know it sounds pathetic but.. I know you won't hurt me. Right?"  
  
"Course not. You know I adore you." Greg replied softly, though his features said otherwise.  
  
"I.. They don't just hit me though, right.. They let their friends have at me.. Any way they want. Usually... sexually."  
  
Greg watched how John slowly seemed to curl in on himself and for some reason it sent a thrill down Greg's spine. A jealous protective feeling hit, but at the same time _he_  wanted to be the reason John looked like that. He wanted to build him up to break him down, just to build him up again.   
  
"I'll look after you, John. I promise. You can depend on me." Greg kissed John's cheek sweetly. 

 

 

_****_

 

 

Jim had frozen when he had heard somebody entering the bathroom. He stayed totally still, and didn’t made a noise. Luckily, they were too focused on their problems to pay any attention to their surroundings.

 

He had always noticed something strange about John. He moved a bit too carefully sometimes, and Jim recognised that way of moving. He was in pain, and trying to hide it. There was something else, too. Some tiny details he had noticed, but...

 

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and the memories from last morning came back. And with them, all the emotions he had felt: the fear, the helplessness. No. He had to do something, to focus on something else. Anything. John. Yes, that was it. He focused on John’s words.

 

That was even worse, because it brought to his mind _other_ memories, ones he had tried to keep buried, about what had happened at the centre at night. About the words they had said to him, and the way he had felt.

 

He started to feel dizzy. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room, and the floor seemed to be moving. He recognised the first symptoms of panic, and forced himself to breath slow and deeply. It helped, a bit. Luckily, Greg and John left in that moment, and he had some time to recover.

 

Breathing didn’t work, not when the memories kept coming to his mind and he was unable to stop them. He washed his face carefully, and looked for something to do that kept his mind busy, but there was nothing. Wait. There was something. _John_.

 

He didn’t think about it. It was probably a horrible idea, but he needed it, and it was better than the alternative. He walked to the door of John’s classroom and waited for him to come out.

 

 

****

 

 

John had a slightly sick feeling left in his stomach after talking to Greg. The brunette had seemed to change a little and it.. unnerved him. But he trusted Greg. Greg was a good guy and was always so nice to him. It was a wonder they didn't start dating sooner. And now it would be okay, right? It had to be.  
  
He went to class alone, keeping his head down as he mumbled an excuse for being late. He sat through class with little reason to do anything but take notes.   
  
When class broke, he left but stopped in his tracks. Jim Moriarty seemed to be staring at him - waiting for him. Oh god, no. He'd hoped he wouldn't be approached by him. But he never got that lucky.

 

 

John was alone. Jim knew he would be, he was either alone or with Greg, and right now Greg had a class on the other side of school. He kept his expression blank for a second, and then forced a smile, sweet and warm, that didn't reach his eyes. "Johnny! Rough night? Come with me, we should talk"

 

 

John swallowed thickly, his eyes widening a fraction. God, he hated that name. "I-Okay." He stammered, blinking owlishly as he slowly followed Jim, shaking like a leaf.

 

Jim wasn't very sure of what he was trying to achieve, but this was keeping him distracted, so he just went on with it. "You know, Johnny? We had never made any deal, you and I.", he said, keeping the smile on his face. What could hurt John more? Oh. Of course. "I'm sure there are things you don't want people to know. Rumours can be so....mean"

 

 

John stiffened, the color draining from his face. "I-I.. I don't know what you're talking about." He managed to get out, his eyes strangely wide. "We don't need to make a deal."

 

Jim laughed, and moved a bit closer to John. "Really, Johnny? How do you think everybody here would react, if they knew you seduced your own father?", he whispered in his ear.

 

John's breath caught and he felt like he may fall over any minute. What could he say to that? "What do you want?" He whispered, looking down.

 

And, just with those words, Jim felt in control again. He had power, he had control over his own life. He wasn't his father. "I want _you_. Since this very moment, you're mine. You do everything I say, when I say it and without complaining. Do that, or I'll tell everybody how disgusting you are". Because Jim remembered feeling that it was his fault. No. No thinking. "You enjoy it, don't you? Your own father. Well, I sort of get it. Who else is going to want somebody like you?"

 

 

John bit his lip harshly, forcing himself not to cry. He couldn't be weak in front of Jim like this. He couldn't afford it. But, the words stung, wringing tears. "I-I don't.."

 

 

Again, that sensation of power washed the memories away, and he needed more, he needed it to last. "You don't? Oh, come on. You can't lie to me, haven't you heard that? I can tell when people lie. Somebody so weak, so _broken_. Of course you enjoyed it. And it wasn't just him, was it? How many more? People like you have a name, you know?", he said sweetly

 

John began to shake once more, unable to stop the few tears from escaping. "W-what?" He stammered, stupidly. He should just shut up. He needed to shut up. "What do you want?" He he finished quickly, needing to get it out.

 

"So eager", Jim whispered, almost touching John's skin with his lips. Then he moved away, and looked him in the eyes. "Let's start slowly, Johnny. I won't tell anybody, if you do exactly what I tell you. For today...I said that people like you have a name. You seduce people, and have sex with them, to get something in exchange. Don't dare to deny it, _dear_. I know when people lie, remember? So...for today, I just want to hear you say it. I want to hear you telling me what you are"

 

John was mortified. How could someone do this without cause? He bit down his pride and looked down at his shoes. "I'm a whore." he whispered bitterly, echoing his mother's favourite word. It nearly killed him to do it.

 

"Good boy", Jim replied. "Although you still don't believe it. Stop deluding yourself, Johnny. I'll make sure you know your place", he said, moving a step away. "Oh, and one more thing: this deal is secret. If you tell anybody about it, specially Greg, the deal is over, and everybody will know your dirty secret. Am I clear?"

 

"Crystal, sir." John replied almost out of instinct. Too late to take it back now. This would be torturous.

 

Jim smirked, feeling totally in control of the situation. "I see we understand each other. Bye,  Johnny"

 

 

****

 

  
Jim had barely slept in three days. And the few hours he had managed, the nightmares had been worse than ever. His mother was more and more confused, and had mistaken him with his father two more times. He couldn't go on like this. Sebastian noticed, of course, but one of the good things about Sebastian was that he never asked questions, he was just there. So he went to the bathroom in the third floor, and asked him to bring him John. When John came in, Sebastian waited outside of the door, like he had asked him to do.  
  
"Did you miss me, Johnny?", he asked with a sweet smile

 

 

John kept his gaze lowered. Things just got worse at home and this was slowly killing him. He stayed silent, unsure.

 

Jim smirked, feeling in control again. "Oh, come on. It's not so bad. I'm keeping your secret, aren't I? I think you should thank me"

 

"How did you even find out?" John snapped, unable to help it. "Did Greg tell you?"

 

"Are you really that stupid?", he said coldly. "Greg isn't precisely my friend. Even you should have noticed that. I just can see it. I see it in the way you move, in the way you talk, in the way you look at people. And if you're not careful, everybody will see it soon. But, until that moment, I'm keeping your secret, so show a bit of gratitude"

 

John wrapped his arms around himself tightly. He nodded curtly, unable to look Jim in the eye. "Sorry.."

 

Jim walked around John slowly, studying him carefully and tried not to remember last time he had used that word. "I still don't see you being grateful, Johnny. Did I ask for an apology? I don't remember doing it", he said coldly, stopping right in front of him.

John looked up briefly, shivering under the gaze. "I-" he cut himself off and looked down again.

 

It wasn't working. Something on John's expression reminded him too much of....No. He had a task, he had to focus on his task. "I've already said it twice. Since...you seem to be too _stupid_ to understand me, I'll say it once more: Show. Me. Gratitude”

 

"Thank you." John whispered, his voice wavering. He didn't mean a single word.

 

Jim laughed. "Oh, Johnny", he said, walking another step towards him. "You should try harder. I don't believe you. Do you know what would happen, if people knew? If everybody realised how...filthy and disgusting you really are? Words mean nothing. I want facts. So... _show_ me how grateful you are"

 

The words hit like knives, worse than when he told himself them. John bit his lip. "How?"

 

"How? Oh, come on, Johnny. Do I have to spell it for you?", he said smiling sweetly

 

John's eyes widened. He couldn't mean... no. "Please." He replied softly. He had to know.

 

Jim could almost see the idea forming in John's mind, and smirked. "Please what, Johnny?"

 

"Please don't make me." John pleaded.

 

"Please don't make you...what? Say it, Johnny", he said with the same expression

 

"Please don't make me... pleasure you." John spat out the word pleasure, despite himself.

 

Jim raised an eyebrow. "And why I would want you? I could have anyone. Somebody less...used", he said, smiling. "Oh, Johnny. Very well. I promise you...I won't make you _pleasure_ me. Happy?"

 

John nodded quickly, relief flooding through him. "W-what do you want, then?"

 

What did he want? He remembered how desperate John had been the other day when he had made him say it out loud. And....he frowned, remembering several tiny details of John's behaviour. Of course. "Today? I want two things. First...I want to hear you say what you are. And I want you to sound...convinced. And second..." He smiled. "...I want your blade. You belong to me, so you have to ask me for permission to use it"

 

John bit the inside of his cheek harshly. He took a deep breath, thinking of all the thing's he'd ever done. "I'm a whore." He said quietly but firmly.

 

Jim could see the way part of John believed that. And how hearing himself saying it was making him to believe it more. "Very good, Johnny. Now, the second part", he said softly, extending his hand

 

John reluctantly rooted in his pocket, hands shaking as he took out a small razor blade. He slowly put it in Jim's hand, feeling like a part of him went with it.

 

"Very good", he said, smiling. John hadn't even questioned him, hadn't asked how did he knew, and he had just done what he had said. It had been...beautiful. "I'll keep it for you. Oh, you can use it. I'm not _that_ cruel. You just have to ask permission first."

 

John stared at Jim, baffled. "When can I use it next." He whispered, already needing it.

 

"When you ask, for course. You want to do it now, I can see it. Have I really upset you that much? I haven't told you anything you didn't know, dear. But, of course, you can ask"

 

John fidgeted nervously. "Please, can I use it?" he said, barely above a whispered, his skin positively crawling.

 

Jim wanted to see it. He had read how it was supposed to work, how sometimes pain could make you stop feeling. But pain, for him, only brought back more memories. So he offered the blade to John without saying anything

 

John took it hesitantly. "Do I have to do it in front of you?" he asked, a little thrown off.

 

"Today, yes. Next time...we'll see", he said softly. "I won't interfere. Won't say a word. Once you're done, give me back the blade and you can leave"

 

John rolled up his sleeve a little, feeling vulnerable. His arm was already covered in violent bruises and deep gashes, burns littered amongst them. He pressed the blade to his wrist with a steady hand, already feeling calmer. He dragged it across his skin, letting out a small breath as the pain and adrenaline shot through him.  

 

Jim observed, mesmerised. John's body language changed totally. Pain made him calm down, made his mind stop focusing on the memories. Jim almost said something then, almost asked John to explain how it felt. But he had promised to stay silent, so he did.

 

 

 

John barely felt the pain after a moment, his mind clouded by endorphins and a foggy haze. He made two more cuts before he wiped the blade clean and gave it to Jim. It would have to last, this...euphoria. "Thank you." he whispered, wiping tissues around his wrist a few times.

 

Jim nodded, and took the blade without saying anything. John had looked almost peaceful. He opened the door for John, waited for a couple of minutes after he left. Then  he cleaned the blade and put it in his bag before leaving the room. He ignored the way Sebastian looked at him, and keep trying to act normally.  
  
That night, Jim put a blade against his skin. But he didn't even get close to cut. The feeling of the blade, and the sight of the scars on his own skin made his hand tremble too much.

 

****

 

  
  
Jim lasted a few days with the memory of John's blood to keep his mind busy. The weekend was the worst, even though he spent half of it at Sebastian's house. He felt safe there, and everybody treated him normally.  
  
Finally, on Tuesday, he needed more, and told Sebastian to bring John again. He did more or less the same, but this time he made John trace the word _whore_ over his skin with a finger.  
  
It went on and on. Sometimes he even told Sebastian to stay in the room with them. And yet, it wasn't enough. So one day, about a month later, he managed to keep Greg distracted at lunch time (he was in trouble with a teacher for not having done his homework, and had been forced to stay in the classroom until he finished them. Making somebody steal Greg's homework had been easy). So John was eating alone. Smiling, he sat in front of him. "Hi, Johnny!"  
  
   
"I-Jim." he stammered.

 

Yesterday, the session with his therapist had been specially difficult, and he needed...something more. Because they kept asking how he felt, and he didn't want to think about that. What else he could do to John? It was too easy, now. The way John asked him for the blade, the way he did what he was told without asking. It wasn't a challenge anymore, it wasn't enough to keep his mind busy. "You're eating too much lately", he commented in a casual tone

 

 

John had been growing used to the deals. Growing accustomed to how Greg slowly did his own breaking down, crushing any self confidence John previously had.  
He'd been hoping for a quiet lunch to savour the food, to get rid of the painful hunger. He almost choked on his food when Jim approached him.

  
"I-I only eat at school." he tried to defend himself.

 

 

The answer made Jim pause for a second. He remembered the hunger, and some of the things he'd had to do to get food as a reward. He blinked quickly, and looked for something else to think about."Do you?", he asked, forcing a smile. "Let's make another deal, Johnny: if you don't eat more than half of that, I'll give you...I don't know. What do you want? Your blade, for a day?"

 

John bit his lip. It was a fair trade. He needed the blade more than food. But he was so hungry.. And Greg barely let him eat some days. He got lucky today. "I... do I have another option?"

 

"I'm just _worried_ about you. Do you know what happens to people like you when they stop looking good?", he asked softly. "But, if you have a better idea, tell me. I'm in a good mood today"

 

John frowned, looking down at himself. Was he fat? His ribs jutted as it was but maybe it wasn't enough.. "I'll do it." He barely realized he spoke.

 

Jim nodded, smiling, and handed him the blade. "You're _mine_ , Johnny, and I take care of what is mine.", he said, brushing John's hand with his finger. He glanced at the door, and saw Greg coming in. "Give it back to me tomorrow, before lunch. Or...we can re-negotiate this, then", he added, standing up.

 

John pocketed the blade. "Thank you." He whispered. He'd already eaten half of his food, so he ate no more.  
  
Greg approached Jim, walking with an air of confidence. "What did you want with John?" he spat.

 

"Oh, nothing. Just keeping him company, he looked so _lonely_. You should take better care of him", Jim said with an innocent smile

 

"I look after him just fine." Greg growled. "Stay away from him."  

 

Jim laughed. "Oh, come on. As if you care. I know you better than that, Greg"

 

"John is mine, _James_. Don't come near him." Greg warned, before going to walk back to John.

 

Jim hated him. He had never done anything to Greg. Even now, the memory of Greg's father taking him out of the basement and staying with him at the hospital stopped him. But he had to do something, or Greg would think he had power over him. John. He glanced at them, noticing for the first time how small John looked when he was besides Greg. How frightened. No. He had to focus. Greg clearly cared about Greg, so hurting John meant hurting Greg.  
  
That day, he just observed. If he wasn't so tired, he might have noticed something else in the way Greg treated John. But he hadn't slept properly for weeks, and things at home were worse than ever.

 

****

 

  
John had never been afraid of Greg before. He and his father had always been so nice to him. Feeding him, taking him places.  
But after Greg saw John and Jim talking, he changed. It started with a slap here, when John questioned him, a punch there if John tried to do something Greg didn't like. It seemed like John had nowhere to go.  
Beaten at home, beaten at school, used at home, used at school. It never stopped.  
  
So when Jim stood outside the cafeteria, John knew he had no choice anymore. Either fight everyone and make life harder, or just... be submissive.  One or the other. So he chose the second option.  
  
"The music room is empty.” he mumbled.

 

Something was different about John today. Almost like if he had given up. It should make Jim feel better, but it didn't. "Let's go there, then", he said, keeping his voice steady and leading the way.

 

John nodded, following Jim silently, terrified but resigned.

 

Jim closed the door behind them, and stood in front of John. "Show me what you did with the blade since yesterday", he said calmly.

 

John chewed on his lip and lifted his shirt to show five deep cuts on his hip.

 

Jim extended a hand to touch them, but stopped before doing it. "I could let you keep your blade, for a price", he offered. So Greg thought he could take care of John? Let's see if that was true.

 

John let his shirt drop back into place. "What price?" he asked nervously.

 

John was clearly desperate. Good. Let's see if Greg could take care of him. Jim doubted that. "Remember those letters you traced on your skin for me? I want them to be _permanent_. Do it with the blade, deep enough to scar. Do it, and I won't take the blade away for you again."

 

"N-now?" John whispered, fingering the blade in his pocket.

 

"Whenever you want the blade back", Jim said with half a smile. "By the way your hands are trembling, I'd say....you can't wait much longer. Now we're alone and we have time. And I have bandages in my bag"

 

John faltered fir a moment. "Where?" he asked softly, holding the blade tightly between two fingers.

 

"Somewhere...discreet. It's just for you to have a permanent reminder of what you are. Let's say...here?", he asked sweetly, touching John's leg over  his knee. "Make the letters clear, or you'll have to start again."

 

John nodded weakly and began to undo his pants. He had no choice. He pushed them down, leaving him in his underwear. His legs were coated in violent bruises, but cut free for now. He placed a steadying hand on his leg and pressed the blade down, hard, to start the first line, the skin splitting in two sides, deeper than he usually went.

 

There was something terribly wrong about this. It reminded Jim too vividly to something that his father had made him do. No. This was different. It made him feel in control. John was so...compliant. And John's blood was so bright against his pale skin...He observed without moving or making any sound, fixing the moment in his mind.

 

John continued to carve into his skin, the amount of blood terrifying, but exhilarating. He needed this. He continued until the word 'Whore' was written out in capital letters.

John's hands didn't shake but his knees did. He had to hold onto a table to keep himself up, his face pale.

 

Once John had finished, Jim opened his bag, and, without saying a word, started to clean and bandage the wounds carefully. He worked until he was sure the wound was perfectly bandaged. "You've earned your blade", he said, looking at his face. John was so pale. "Now...I don't want to hear that you're using it wrong. Keep the cuts clean, and stay away from the arteries. Change those bandages once a day.", he said without thinking. Then he realised what he had been saying, and stopped. "This deal is secret, don't tell anybody. Now you can go"

 

 

John took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Thank you." he pocketed the blade, blinking away his dizziness. It would take weeks for this to heal, but it would have to be worth it.

 

This time, John was truly grateful, and Jim smiled as he watched him go. He wondered how Greg's reaction to the scars would be.

 

 

****

 

 

When John met Greg later on, Greg noticed a change straight away. It was hard to miss John had a slight limp and seemed to favour one leg over the other. It was a growing concern and Greg had a small inkling of what was wrong.  
  
At home, John's life only grew worse. His parents grew more brutal, his mother having caught him smoking. A form of punishment was to stub the cigarettes out on his body. His father began to sell John's body to high payers, men of power in the town. It hurt all the more and John couldn't stop it.  
  
And then suddenly Greg grew more touchy, pressing into John's personal space any time he could, touching him when nobody was looking, like it was normal. But it made John feel so much more disgusting. He couldn't live like this.  
  
The word on his leg wasn't healing properly, because his father thought it a good idea to reopen the wound when he could - thought it was positively hilarious. It grew infected, meaning the scar would be worse. This terrified John to no end. He was already eating such a little amount of food as it was and his body couldn't fight off infections as well as it should.

 

****

 

John's situation distracted Jim for some days. Things at home were worse every day, and he needed this. He was starting to realise that he was unable to take care of his mother on his own. But he had decided to try. It was difficult, when she refused to take her medication and accused him of trying to poison her. And then apologizing, and begging him not to hurt her.

He decided to just observe John and don’t interfere for a while. Until, several days later, he started to notice John's limp growing worse and worse. He was pale, and showed signs of a fever.  
  
The following day he went to schools with medical supplies, and waited for John at the entrance, stopping him when he arrived  
  
John was so tired, and when he got to school only to be stopped by Jim, he nearly lost it. Silently he let Jim lead him through the schools to the unused bathroom.

Jim had been taking care of his mother for weeks, and he had learned how to do this. But he didn't want John to think he was weak, so he had to make this differently. "I told you to take care of the wound", he said coldly  
  
"I-I know, I'm sorry. I-I couldn't.." John trailed off, knowing his excuse wouldn't be enough.

 

"Let me see it", Jim said, opening his bag.  
  
John swallowed dryly and pushed his trousers off down to his ankles, the bandages he had put on in the morning already being stained by hints of blood and a slight yellow tinge.

"What were you thinking?", he shouted, examining it. It was infected. If he had waited a few more days, John would have need a hospital. And possibly surgery.  
  
John flinched away from the tone in Jim's voice. "I'm sorry." He whispered brokenly. "I couldn't stop them."

 

That made Jim pause for a second. Them? How many? "Don't move" he said, cleaning the wound carefully.  
He knew a lot of how to treat infected wounds. And he had brought everything he could need. He took a syringe with antibiotics. "Don't move", he warned again when John tensed.  
  
John nodded quickly, wringing his hands together behind his back.

 

"I told you I wanted a nice scar", he muttered coldly. Then, carefully, started to inject the antibiotic.  
  
John barely flinched at the needle piercing his skin. "I know." He whispered, closing his eyes. He'd tried to take care of it, but it was so difficult.

 

Jim bandaged John's leg again, and handed him a bottle of pills. "Take one when you get up and another when you go to bed for a week. And change the bandages every day. I told you. Don't make me repeat it a third time"

John put the bottle of pills in his bag, his hands shaking. He nodded quickly. "I'm really sorry.."

"I don't think you understood how this works. You're mine. If I tell you to do something, you do it. I want a scar. A _readable_ one. Take care of it"  
  
"I do understand it. I couldn't help it." John defended himself.

 

"Do better this time", he said coldly. "You _owe_ me for this, Johnny"  
  
John nodded, looking down. "Yes, sir." He mumbled, almost cursing himself for letting the 'sir' slip out again.

 

Again, John's submissive answer made him feel much better. "Take care of the wound. Take your pills. And don't let it get infected again. You can go now", he said firmly.  
  
John fixed his clothes and left without another word, keeping his head down to bite back his tears.

Jim watched him go in silence. What was he doing? He wasn't supposed to be helping John. And yet, it had made him feel better. That, and hearing John calling him sir and obeying without hesitation. It was almost intoxicating. He frowned. Greg definitely wasn't doing a good job taking care of John.

 

****

  
  
The next days, Jim just observed. John ate less. And looked guilty when he did it. With just a sentence, Jim had put an idea in his mind. Such power.  
  
He didn't do anything, but he was sure to let John see him watching at least once a day. Just a reminder. And it kept his mind busy.

 

John could feel himself slowly falling apart. His leg actually start to heal, but only after his father grew bored with tearing it open. He couldn't stand this. How was he meant to survive this constant torture?  
  
Greg had been growing suspicious of Jim talking to John. To the point where he started being overly nice to John, making sure he was okay, pleased he'd barely cut lately. But he was eating so little, and more than once Greg could hear John getting sick in the bathrooms. He blamed it all on Jim of course, but he felt mildly jealous. He wanted to break John down like that. Watch him crumble. Ruin him.

 

Time passed, and things got worse. To the point where Jim was about of giving up. He couldn't help his mother. Most times just seeing him triggered a panic attack in her. But there was no way he was sending her to a centre. Not even if she had done it when he was a child.  
  
Weeks turned into months. He was barely sleeping, and he started to get thinner. He barely recognized himself in the mirror. Sebastian was clearly worried, and when he asked him how he could help, Jim said the only thing he could find: "Go and tell John Watson that I need to see him, to remind him of what he is".

****

  
Sebastian didn't want to. He hated what Jim was doing to John. But Jim looked like ghost, so pale and almost desperate. So he went to find John.  
  
When Sebastian told John he was to follow him, John nearly truly cried. He couldn't handle any more of these degrading deals. He couldn't.

Sebastian took John to Jim. He didn't know which of them looked worse. What was Jim doing? He glanced at John, unsure. But finally he knocked at the door and went inside, taking John with him.  
  
Jim forced a smile. "Sebastian. Wait in that corner. Don't interrupt us", he said, before turning his attention back to John. "Johnny", he said, still smiling. "Show me the scars"  
  
John silently did as he was told, removing his trousers once again. It was like a mantra. His wound had healed rather well, but the scar was horrible to his eyes.

 

It was a sign of his power over John, and seeing it calmed him down. To Jim’s eyes, it was beautiful. "Trace it with your finger", he said softly.  
  
John clenched his jaw and slowly traced the letters, his hand shaking, the scar horribly raised under his touch.

So compliant. It was beautiful to see. "Tell me what you are, Johnny", Jim said sweetly  
  
John said nothing, his willingness to comply cracking for a moment. He glared at the floor.

He had left him alone too much time. Jim walked  a step closer, and touched his cheek. "Johnny? I'm waiting for an answer", he said sweetly  
  
John flinched at the touch. "I'm a _whore_." he said softly.

"Very good, Johnny", he said, touching his cheek again. "Now tell me why"  
  
"Because I have sex with people in return for something else." John whispered, looking down.

 

"Good, very good. It seems you've finally admitted it", he replied, brushing John's cheek again. "There's something else I want you to understand: I'm the one who won't treat you differently because of it. You're mine, and I know who you are. But other people...if they knew, they'd treat you like what you are. Even your friends."

 

John's eyes widened, the way Greg had been acting.. "I-I know.." he stammered.

 

Jim saw fear in John's eyes. And something else, something darker. Desperation? He smiled, and kissed John's cheek. "Oh, don't worry. I won't tell, as long as you behave"

 

John knew he was being foolish but he had to know. "What.. What about someone who already knows?"

 

Jim knew he was talking about Greg, but decided to play a bit more. "Sebastian?", he asked, looking at the corner where he was. "Oh, don't worry. He'll do exactly what I tell him to do"

 

"I.. I didn't mean Sebastian.."

 

"Tell me what worries you", he said sweetly. "You know I can help. I always can, for a price"

 

John fidgeted and then shook his head. He shouldn't. He couldn't. Everything was one big secret.

 

"No? Well, that's your choice", Jim replied, smiling.

 

John nodded, fixing his clothes, suddenly feeling exposed.

 

No. No, John couldn't leave yet. It'd leave him alone with his thoughts. Jim looked for something else to tell him, to do to him. "So...I keep your secret. What do I get in exchange? Because you already know what you are"

 

John fidgeted. "what do you want?"

 

What did he want? Nothing, really. To be distracted. To keep his mind away from his own problems. To feel in control. "I remember promising you that I wouldn't make you please _me_ ", he said softly

 

John's eyes widened. No, no, no. His dad's 'clients' was enough. He couldn't. "W-who?" he whispered.

 

Jim had expected John to say no and confront him. He didn't want to make him do this, not really. He just wanted a challenge. But he couldn't take it back. He glanced at Sebastian, who looked horrified, and then focused again on John. "Somebody from school. I don't mind, you can choose. You...offer, and make sure that your offer gets accepted. Then you come to me and tell me about it. Remember that I know when you're lying. You've got...let's say two weeks"

 

John looked between Jim and Sebastian nervously. How was he meant to pick someone? "What if I can't pick anyone?" he asked, wringing his hand together. He felt so pathetic.  

 

Jim shrugged. "Not my problem. Oh, and Sebastian is off limits. Keep me informed"

 

John nodded slowly. "Can I go now?"

 

So...resigned. And even asking for permission to leave. Jim smiled, and nodded.

 

John left slowly, body trembling. He couldn't do that. Even being barely touched in crowded hallways put him on edge. How could Jim ask this of him? But.. He was a whore, wasn't he? It was expected. By everyone.

 

 

****

 

 

Sebastian couldn't stay silent. He had seen John's panicked reaction, and he knew this would destroy him. And....forcing somebody to do that was wrong. No matter why.  
  
"Jim? Can't you ask something different from him?", he said, unsure. Jim just glared at him, and moved towards the door without saying anything. Without thinking, Sebastian grabbed his wrist, wanting to talk about this.  
  
And Jim screamed, and tried to get away from him.  
  
Sebastian let him go almost immediate, but didn't miss the panicked expression in Jim's eyes.  
  
"Don't ever touch me", Jim said coldly  
  
Sebastian had learned to read Jim's emotions. Not totally, but enough. "I'm sorry, Jim", he replied.  
  
"You promised"  
  
Sebastian had started to hate those words. He didn't care about the promise, he cared about _Jim_. But he knew he couldn't say that, because Jim wouldn't believe him. So he just nodded. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Keep an eye on John. Make sure to remind him how little time he has left to complete his task. And remind him what he is"  
  
Sebastian opened his mouth, but...Jim's hands were trembling. "Yes, Jim"

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

John bumped into Greg on his way to the cafeteria and he flinched away from the look on his face. He looked so angry and.. Disappointed.  
  
"John, you keep leaving me. That's not very nice, is it?"  
  
"I-I'm sorry.. I had to go to the bathroom."  
  
Greg crowded close, making it look like he was just talking, instead of threatening. "You don't eat, sleep, or even use the bathroom with my permission, got it? Things could be so much worse, love." Greg smiled softly, kissing John's cheek.  
  
John slowly closed himself off mentally for a few days, unable to help it. Nothing got better like everyone claimed. It just got so much worse. He wondered if he could just ask Greg to so what Jim had asked but.. He didn't want to do it at all.  
  
And things at home had gotten worse. His sister had moved home again, an alcoholic in all it's unwashed glory. She despised John and made a sport of throwing empty beer bottles as him. His father made sure John barely had time for school work with man after man calling to the house, alone with groups.  
  
He couldn't take it much longer.

 

 

****

 

Sebastian hated doing this. But Jim was obsessed with John. And the worst part was that Jim looked worse every day, and Sebastian didn't dare to ask. So he did what Jim had asked him to do. As if he had any other option. He sat behind John in all the classes they shared, and started to repeat the words Jim had made John say. He also reminded him every day of how little time he had left to do what Jim had asked.

 

 

The words Sebastian repeated stung. John tried to make himself as small as possible, as often as he could. One day he decided to just ask Greg. Someone he trusted, right? At the end of a class he told Sebastian.  
  
"Tell Jim I did what he asked. And please... stop saying that stuff to me." he pleaded.

 

Sebastian wanted to do it, he really wanted. But he didn't say anything about it. "I'll tell him. He'll want details, remember that", he said, as Jim had told him to do.  
  
Later that day, he asked Jim to stop this, and, again, Jim reminded him of his promise. He looked about to break, and Sebastian just nodded again, wishing he could find a way out of this.  
  
So he kept whispering in John's ear, and telling Jim about John's reactions. He also reminded John  that Jim was waiting for him to complete his task.

 

 

****

 

 

That night John stayed at Greg's house, Charlie - Greg's dad - leaving on a case.  
  
"Greg.. You know how we've been together a while, yeah?" John asked quietly, sitting on Greg's bed.  
  
Greg nodded, in the middle of texting someone.  
  
"Do you.. Do you want to have sex with me?" he whispered, keeping his head down.  
  
Greg's head shot up to stare at John, a slow smirk spreading on his voice. He dropped his phone and stalked towards John. "I hope you're sure, baby. Could hurt."  
  
After that, John figured he had no choice. Greg was on him in a moment, touching him and saying he was such a _good whore_. It stung and Greg was by no means a gentle guy.  
  
When John left the next morning, the weekend saving him, he could barely walk and had a faint feeling he might get sick. He should have asked someone else. And yet it started all over again when John got home.

 

John tried to kill himself that day. He hated himself for what he'd become, for what others made him do. His sister found him and made him vomit up the tablets he'd taken.  
  
"No getting away that easily, Johnny boy." She laughed, her words slurred as John vomited into the toilet, unable to stop crying.  That had been his fourth attempt already and yet nobody would let him finish.

 

 

****

 

 

Next day was Saturday, and like always, Jim went to Sebastian’s house. His parents hadn't arrived yet from the shop, and they went to his room.  
  
"Jim? How long it's been since you've last slept? Or ate properly?", he asked finally. He had been wanting to ask that for weeks. "What's wrong, Jim?", he added, softly.  
  
And then Jim buried his face in his hands, and started crying. His whole body was trembling, but the worst thing was that he wasn't making a single noise. Sebastian had no idea of what to do. Jim didn't react well to being touched. Finally, he decided to just sit besides him and wait.  
  
Two hours later Sebastian left an exhausted Jim sleeping in his bed. He had refused to tell him what was wrong, and had made him promise not to come to the room while he was sleeping. But Sebastian didn't want to lose his friend.  
  
"Mum? Something's wrong with Jim. I don't know what to do"  
  
It was all what it took, because in that moment Jim started to scream, and his mother went upstairs. Sebastian waited, hoping that it help, and that Jim wouldn't hate him for this.

 

Sebastian had no idea of what Jim and his mother talked about that night. His mother told him that it was Jim who had to tell him. And Jim refused to talk about it. He would only tell him about it two years later, after Sherlock had came to his life, and he had made peace with John.  
  
Jim stayed the whole weekend. On Sunday, his mother went to Jim's house with him, and, when she came back, she told Sebastian that he had done the right thing telling her.  
  
On Monday, Sebastian noticed that Jim looked a bit better. He didn't ask him how he was, though. Instead, he asked him to stop playing with John. And then Jim said something he had never heard him say  
  
"I need it. Not yet. Please"  
  
It was barely a whisper, and Jim didn't even look at him. So he just nodded, and, once more, he sat behind John in class. "Have you done it? Today is the last day", he whispered.

 

John nodded once, staring down at his notes, his head in his hands. His weekend had gotten progressively worse and he'd had to suffer through the after effects of a failed overdosing - again. 

 

 

Sebastian wanted to leave it like this. It was already bad enough. But...he had never seen Jim like this before. And he had _asked_. "Did you enjoy it?", he asked, as Jim had told him to say. “Jim said you do. He’s waiting for the details”

 

John lost it at the question. Did he _enjoy_ it? Without a second though John spun in his seat to glare at Sebastian. He was so sick of this. Why was everyone so against him? He'd never been a violent person, but in that moment is was so angry he couldn't stop himself from lunging at Sebastian, hitting him wherever he could, as weak as he was. 

 

Sebastian didn't try to fight back. Didn't even try to defend himself. John wasn't very strong, and had lost a lot of weight lately. And he knew that he deserved this, that he shouldn't have helped Jim do what he had done. So he just let John hit him again and again, until they were separated by the teacher

 

John let the teacher drag him away, guilt slowly settling into John's stomach. He shouldn't have done that. He'd be in so much trouble now. The teacher sent them both to the principal’s office, John trembling as he walked, terrified.

 

Sebastian glanced at John. "Don't say anything. We'll both be expelled for three days", he whispered. "And...Jim will keep his word. I promise. He won't ask anything else from you" Jim would probably be angry at him, but he didn't mind right now

 

John nodded numbly, keeping his head down. He rarely got into trouble at school. His parents were going to be so angry.. Greg would be so angry..

 

It didn't work like Sebastian had expected. John never got into trouble. On the other hand, _he_ had a reputation for getting into fights. It was assumed that it had been his fault. But he didn't say anything, because it _had_ been his fault. And who would have believed him anyway? So he got sent home for a week. There were no consequences for John.

 

Once outside the office, Sebastian looked at John silently for a moment. He wasn't sure of what to say. Because everybody had seen it, and Jim had so many people owing him favours. "Stay away from Jim. And from me"

 

John nodded quickly. "I will." He promised, before turning and walking away, already trying to force himself to stop thinking.

 

 

****

 

The following day, Sebastian didn’t ask Jim to stop playing with John. He just told him it had to stop. And, to his own surprise, it worked. Jim looked almost relieved, and Sebastian blamed himself for not having done it earlier.

 


End file.
